


Coming Home

by MannixMind



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Army, Eventual Romance, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-04 05:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4127328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MannixMind/pseuds/MannixMind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his uncle died Jon Targaryen had been told by his aunt in no uncertain terms that he had no place back at Winterfell and that she would not be paying the tuition his uncle had offered to take care of. So he did what any other brooding eighteen year old would do, and joined the army.  That was four years ago now and he hadn't been back since - it had never seemed right, not after Robb. There was only one other person who could ever draw him back to Winterfell and she'd made it quite clear that she had no need or interest in ever talking to him again. But after a picture of her drunk and passed out on Ramsay Bolton's couch shows up on Instagram, Jon decides he doesn't care what she or his commanding officers want - he's coming home for Arya.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
Fort Benning Georgia was hot - hotter than Jon Targaryen had any desire to ever be. He was sprawled out on his bed, in nothing more than his PT shorts, with the fan turned up as high as it would go and he still couldn't cool down. He was just about to go the final mile and strip off the thin blue exercise shorts in hopes that the extra air would make _some_ kind of difference when the door opened and Sam came in.  
  
Despite being nearly twice his size Sam didn't seem at all bothered by the heat, though he was still in the same insane mood he'd been in since they'd boarded the bus to Georgia.  
  
Sam's father was an assistant coach for Georgia State, and from everything his roommate had hinted at Jon figured this was the closest Sam had gotten to home since enlisting his senior year of high school.  From what Jon could tell Sam's dad was a grade-A prick who'd done nothing but bully his son since the time he was old enough to hold a football.  Coordination was not Sam's thing - he hardly made it through basic - and so it was no surprise to Jon that his friend had made a shit football player. Sam's dad though had never come to terms with that, and so when Sam had gotten cut for the fourth year in a row from his high school football team his dad had told him to find a way to prove he was a real man or get the hell out of his house. Sam had wanted to do both, so he enlisted the next day. Now he was back in Georgia and had let his family know it, and was waiting on a response from them telling him whether they’d visit or not.

Sam nodded a quick hello to Jon and then plopped down on his own bed, pulling out his laptop and doing a quick check of both his email accounts, his Facebook, his skype, and every other possible way in which he parents could’ve gotten in contact with him. Finding nothing, he sighed and shut the laptop, blinking up at the ceiling with a pained expression on his face.

“I just wish I heard something from them, you know? It’s the not knowing that’s killing me.”

Jon gave his friend a grunt of agreement, and Sam clapped his hand over his mouth realizing his mistake a moment too late.

“Oh Jon, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to, that is—“

“S’ok, Sam I know you didn’t. Don’t worry about it.”

Sam nodded, but still eyed Jon as if he were going to catch on fire at any moment. It annoyed Jon, being watched always did, but he supposed Sam couldn’t help it. Sam _knew_ and had seen the worst of it, after all.

Two weeks into his freshman year of college Jon’s Uncle Ned had died suddenly and unexpectedly. The head of the famous old guard family, Ned Stark had been a leader in Massachusetts, especially in Winterfell, the town Jon had come to call home.

His parents had died when he was two while on a trip to celebrate their anniversary, and he’d ended up staying for sixteen years with the Uncle who’d agreed to watch him for one three-day weekend. Not that his Uncle Ned had minded, he’d treated Jon like he was his own son, and being raised with his cousins had been fantastic.

Not everyone was happy with the arrangement – specifically his Aunt Catelyn, who’d resented him for the attention he’d taken away from her children from the moment he got to the house. He couldn’t really blame her, she’d been eight months pregnant with Sansa at the time his parents died, and his arrival in the house had certainly shaken things up right before the arrival of her new baby. But it had been more than that, if Catelyn was really that worried about divided attention she wouldn’t have gone on to have three more kids…

No, she just hated him. He always knew she didn’t love him, but it was the death of his uncle that made her hatred clear as day. He’d taken off school to come home for the funeral, pulling over to cry on the side of the road three times during the four hour drive. When he’d gotten to Winterfell he had been glued to his cousin’s sides – going from sipping beers with Robb while he sobbed to sparring with Arya so she could get out her tears without people noticing. It was the worst week of his life—and that was before his aunt called him into his uncle’s old study.

“Yes Aunt Catelyn?” he’d said, timidly hovering in the door way not wanting to come in. His uncle’s study had been sacred space – a place so overwhelming dominated by memories of Ned Stark that he had been loath to talk to his aunt in there, for fear that it might in some way taint the place for him. He’d been right to worry.

“Come in Jon. It’s best that we get this over with.”

He’d had no choice then. Slowly he had shut the door and come to sit in the chair across from her. She had looked haggard – older than he’d ever seen her look in his life – and for a moment he’d felt overwhelming pity for the woman. Then she began to speak.

“I’ve seen how you’ve been with my children this past week, especially Arya. I’m grateful for that. Whatever you may think of me when this conversation is done, know that that, at least, is accurate.”

“Arya is my best friend Aunt Catelyn, I’m closer to her and the rest of my cousins, than I am to anyone. We’ve all helped each other, I’ve done nothing for them that they haven’t done for me.”

“Mmm. Yes well either way you have my thanks. Unfortunately Jon, my thanks are really all I have left to give you.”

He’d stared at her then, not fully understanding. Looking somewhat aggravated by his blank expression, she’d pressed on.

“I am aware that Ned had promised to put you through college. However, in the event of his death Ned left the managing of the entire Stark Estate solely in my hands. Now I know what you will say, and you are likely right, my husband would have wanted me to continue to pay for your education. However, my husband is not here, and I cannot make decisions about the financial security of my family around what he may or may not have wanted. I am sorry Jon, but I am afraid the entire Stark Estate will be needed to ensure that our children have—“

“Aunt Catelyn, it’s too late in the semester for me to take out loans—“

“I know, and for that I am sorry, but I am afraid I cannot help you. You may keep the money in your account as well as the truck Ned gave you, I suppose the deed is in your name anyway. You are also welcome to stay here through the end of next week, should you need a time to get yourself situated.”

He’d stared at her then, really looked at her searching for any hint of compassion in her beautiful blue eyes. But they were cold to him.

“I just… I don’t understand why—Aunt Catelyn we’re family…”

At that her lips had compressed into a hard thin line.

“You are not _my_ family. And it is long past the time that we should stop pretending that you are.”

He’d enlisted two days later.

Still he had maintained some relationship with his cousins – particularly Robb and Arya – after enlisting. He hadn’t told them why of course, he couldn’t do that, he knew there was a chance it’d drive a wedge between them and their mother and he couldn’t cause that, not after they’d already lost their father. Still, they’d both known him well enough to know there was something he wasn’t saying, and for the first time in his life his relationship with his two favorite cousins had felt somewhat distant.

The Army hadn’t been too bad, the ass kicking of basic was almost exactly what he needed to keep his mind off things, off the death of his uncle and the future he had lost. He’d even been a little excited for his deployment when it had come around – ready to prove himself to First Sergeant Mormont and ready to have something he could be proud of that couldn’t be taken away from him by the likes of Catelyn fucking Stark.

And at first it had gone well. His unit was sharing a base with two Marine companies, though from the way people acted you’d have thought that _they_ were the enemy, rather than the Taliban fighters on the other side of the wall. He never understood it, and actually ended up being shunned by some of the men in his platoon for daring to treat the Marines on base like they were people too. Not that they all returned the favor though, but one corporal in particular had made him more than welcome.

Ygritte. When she wasn’t busy telling him he knew nothing, she was cornering him in quasi-public nooks on base, getting him to break general order number 1 – no sex down range. Between his secret liaisons with her and his budding friendship with Sam and some of the others, he’d actually been having a semi-decent deployment. He’d even earned himself a nickname (which was startlingly necessary given how impossible it was to get his company of misfits from around the United States to all agree on the pronunciation of the vowels in “Targaryen”) after pulling twelve hour guard duty in a blizzard without thinking to go in and get a coat, and so among his men he was now forever and always Jon Snow.

But then the crash happened and everything, _everything_ went to shit.

Robb and his girlfriend had been attending a party at the Frey’s house when it happened. They’d driven over with Theon, Robb’s long time best friend who’d agreed to drive home, but the little fuck had gone off with some girl trying to get laid. Instead when it’d been time to go they accepted a ride from Walder Frey – the middle aged host of the party who was notoriously seedy. The car flipped on the way home, and his cousin, one of his two closest friends in the world, had been killed instantly. His girlfriend died in the hospital two weeks later but Frey – Frey had walked away from the crash with nothing but a few bruises.  The worst part of it was that the tox screens all showed Robb was barely registering above a .09, he'd had less than three beers.  He was just so fucking honorable, so fucking _naive_ , that he believed that Frey was playing by the rules because he couldn't imagine breaking them himself.

Jon had come back from patrol to see First Sergeant Mormont waiting for him. He’d known then that it was bad but still he never guessed.

“I’m sorry Snow I really am, I’ve been on the phone all day with HQ about it. But the policy is very clear, we fly people home for deaths in their immediate family only, Command’s not budging on the cousin thing.”

“Sergeant they are all I have. Robb- Robb was more than most brothers would ever be you have to—“

“I know son I know, I’ll try again in the morning. You’d best call your cousin though – she sounded devastated when they patched her through to me.”

“Yes, Sarg.”

He’d trudged back to his room dazed and skyped Arya as soon as he got in. She had picked up immediately. Her face was tear streaked and older looking than the last time he’d seen her. Even with everything that was going on he still made a mental note to insist they skype more often – she was growing up, and he was missing it. Behind her, Rickon was laid out on her bed with his face buried in a pillow, sobbing wretchedly.

“When are you getting in,” she had asked without delay. “Are they flying you through Boston or do we need to go to the nearest air base?”

“Arya…” he said his voice hoarse from the lump that has already begun to swell in his throat, “how are you holding up? How’s everyone holding up?”

“Everyone has gone to shit. Mom’s practically comatose so I’m watching Rickon, Sansa’s crying it out in the arms of one of her fuckboy love interests, and Bran hasn’t done anything but stare at the ceiling in his room since the police showed up last night. I will be fine though, once you get here.”

“Arya… oh gods Arya I’m so sorry.”

She had nodded tightly, as if she couldn’t let those words penetrate, couldn’t let it in to unnerve her and shake her steely cool.

“One day I will kill Walder Frey,” she had murmured quietly, and hearing her Jon thought that in that moment she was dead serious. Then her eyes had flicked back to him, and held him with her piercing gray gaze.

“When and where are they flying you in.”

“It’s not that simple because he’s not immediate family—“

“What do you mean he’s not immediate family?! Jon you spent more time with Robb than the rest of us did combined, how much more immediate can you get?”

“It’s not me its Army policy, Arya you don’t understand—“

“NO YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!” She said jumping up and shouting at him as she did so.

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT IT’S BEEN LIKE SINCE YOU ABANDONED US – SINCE FATHER DIED AND YOU JUST _LEFT_. It’s been ‘oh I have basic in Fort Jackson so I’ll be gone for ten weeks,’ and ‘oh they’ve stationed me at the 101st Airborne, so I’m moving to Kentucky,’ and ‘we’ve got orders to deploy to Kandahar for twelve months but I’ll be sure to call home every few weeks’ ever since dad passed away you’ve been on your way to anywhere but Winterfell! So don’t you DARE tell me I don’t understand! I understand _perfectly_ well that you just USED when you needed a place to live when you were growing up and now that we need you, you’re NO WHERE TO BE FOUND!!”

“Arya please—“

“NO! How could you Jon? HOW CAN YOU LEAVE ME HERE TO DEAL WITH THIS ALONE? I _need_ you here, Jon I need you.”

At that Rickon looked up from the bed, his eyes swollen with tears. “Jon’s not co-coming ho-home?” he’d choked out, lower lip wobbling.

Jon shook his head sadly and when he'd spoken his voice had come out as a pleading sob, "Arya, there's nothing I can do you have to believe—“

“No, Rickon. Jon is done with us. He has new brothers now.” Arya said her voice deadly cold. And she hung up the phone.

He’d tried to call back – skyping her, calling her cell phone, calling the house. When his calling card had finally been exhausted he went back to his room and began breaking things. It got so bad that Sam, who was uncomfortable just at the suggestion of talking to a marine let alone a _female_ marine, had gone to get Ygritte.

She hadn’t tried to calm him down, instead she just redirected his furious energy and before he knew it they were fucking, with more rough abandon than they’d ever done before. He had always been gentle with her, trying to love her and to show her what she meant to him, but this time it was all rage and need. She had matched him though, every step of the way, her nails biting into his shoulder blades as he took her standing – pinning her back against the wall with her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he thrust into her mercilessly.

They’d passed out after the second time, sprawled out naked on his bed among the ruins of his destroyed room. He’d woken a few hours later to see First Sergeant standing over him. The older man had looked grave – but really he always looked grave – and had motioned to Jon to come with him, bringing him out of the barracks and into his office.

_At least if they kick me out of the Army, I’ll be able to go home_ , he’d thought glumly as the Old Bear took a seat behind his desk.

“Bad news son. Command says it’s a no go. There’s nothing I can do to get you home, I’ve tried every avenue I can think of.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

“Don’t thank me private, I haven’t been able to do shit for you with this and we both know it. I am however, going to give you the chance to get off this base for a little bit, get your head cleared. I need to go over to JAF to prep for General Stannis Baratheon’s arrival. You’ve heard he’s going to be touring all of the bases in the Eastern Provinces? Well I’m being assigned to his security detail, and I need to take along a few Joes to help me out. Report back here with all your gear by 0900. Got it?”

“Yes Sergeant.”

“Oh and Snow?”

“That thing with Corporal Wildling ends today.”

“Yes Sergeant.”

He’d called back home then, not caring that it was the middle of the night, and left messages on the house phone and Arya’s cell and skype. He’d even left a message for Bran – who could never be bothered to take around his phone – and Sansa – who had, for almost his entirely life, treated him with as much lofty distain as her mother did. Then he’d gone with Sergeant Mormont for two weeks, checking his messages whenever he was able. But none had come.

By the time he got the nerve to call up Arya again her phone had been shut off. She’d closed down her skype account – even her Facebook and Instagram were gone. It was like she _wanted_ to disappear. He’d tried the house a few more times but his messages never got answered. Eventually he took the hint, and stopped trying altogether.

That was two years ago now, four since his uncle’s death. Still Sam’s concern about mentioning family around Jon wasn’t unwarranted – it was a wound that had never truly healed.

He glanced over at his friend, still compulsively refreshing his email and checking his text messages for some word from them and he sighed. Hating himself for his foolishness, but unable to resist now that the thought had entered his mind, he did the rounds.

Jon had never been the social media type. The idea of taking selfies was literally mind boggling. Still when Arya had gone full-fledged internet hermit on him he’d turned to stalking basically all the social media posts of people he knew were still in Winterfell in hopes of catching some glimpses of her, getting some indication of how she was doing, and what she was up to.

So far he’d been mostly unsuccessful, only seeing her in the occasional throwback posts from Sansa and even with those most of them were from before Jon left home. Still he checked routinely – at least once a week.

He scrolled through Facebook absent-mindedly, seeing nothing of interest (but actually _who cares_ about the 5k you’re training for…) and then switched to Instagram.

He was about to give it up as another Arya-free day, when a post by Ramsay Bolton caught his eye. The kid was trouble – some townie drug dealer that somehow managed to still run in the upper circles of Winterfell society – and Jon had never liked him. From what he’d heard (and seen via his social media stalk sessions) Ramsay Bolton was the one who’d really fucked Theon up after Robb’s death – feeding his guilt-induced cocaine addiction until Greyjoy was only a shell of his former self, strung out and in debt to Ramsay. He’d almost unfollowed the prick for some of the crazy almost sadistic shit he posted, but Jon had been too preoccupied with his mission to catch any glimpse of his lost cousin that he hadn’t gotten around to it.

Good thing to. Ramsay had posted a picture of a skinny, long limbed brunette, passed out drunk on his couch while a seedy party raged around her. He couldn’t see the girl’s face, but her pale skin and dark brown hair were a dead match for his cousin's. She was dressed in far girlier clothes than he would’ve expected from Arya, and had it not been for the caption he probably wouldn’t have given the photo a second look. But Ramsay, the bastard, had spelled the whole fucking thing out in black and white.

_Guess I’m finally getting my chance to #TameTheWolf lol. #LordOfWinterfell_

Jon got up without a word and strode to the door, leaving a bewildered Sam in his wake. He didn’t stop to explain, didn’t stop for anything until he got to the First Sergeant’s office. He knocked and heard the familiar burly “Come in!” and then he was standing there, knowing that this time, he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ take no for an answer.

“Sergeant. I’ve had a family emergency sir. I need to get back to Massachusetts ASAP. I’m leaving as soon as we’re done here.”

It was the kind of statement that would’ve gotten him thoroughly chewed out had he said it to basically anyone but Mormont. But First Sergeant knew his situation.

“Is it your Aunt, Specialist?”

“No Sarg. My cousin… Arya.”

The old man’s eyes widened slightly at that – he knew the whole story, had taken the time to get it out of Jon piece by piece during their time in Afghanistan.

“Mhm. And you’re sure this can’t wait til after training?”

“No Sarg, it can’t.”

The Old Bear sighed, and shook his head. Jon knew this wasn’t easy on him but he had to go. He couldn’t make the same mistake twice – not when it was something he had the power to do something about this time.

“Well alright then. I’ll let the captain know, though I doubt he’ll be overly pleased with either of us.”

Jon gaped at him in amazement before realizing that Mormont was sticking his neck out for him, letting him go even though he knew that this might get him fucked.

“Thank – thank you Sarg. It means the world to me.”

“Don’t make it a thing Snow, just go do what needs to be done and then get the hell back here.”

“Yes First Sergeant.”

“Oh and Snow?”

“Yes?”

The old man stood up and tossed him something. He caught it reflexively, realizing as it landed in his hands with a satisfying ‘clink!’ that it was a set of keys.

“Take my Chevy. There’s no way your piece of shit ‘98 Toyota is making it all eighteen hours to Northern Mass in one piece. Buy American next time, you fuckin’ traitor.”

Jon grinned, loving the Old Bear in that moment more than anyone outside of his family.

“Yes, First Sergeant.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jon

 

He drove through the night – stopping only for bathroom breaks and to pick up more energy drinks as he made his way up the East Coast. It was still early September and thankfully the sun rose early, giving him the energy to push forward.

He called Bran when he reached the Connecticut boarder, praying that his little cousin would pick up or at least let it ring and then call him back. He really didn’t want to call his aunt, but he was too invested now to let that awkwardness stop him from finding her.

The phone rang twice and then Bran picked up.

“Jon?” he said sounding confused. It’d been at least six months since they’d last spoken, and he could tell from his cousin’s tone he was confused by the call. _He must think something’s wrong_ , he realized.

To be fair, something was wrong, Arya was being taken advantage of. But he couldn’t very well say that – not when Bran was probably phoning him from the bathroom of his high school in between classes, so instead he decided that a white lie would be best.

“Hey cuz,” he said, trying to sound casual. “I got leave unexpectedly, and I’m on my way to Winterfell right now.”

“You are?” Bran said, his voice clearly full of surprise.

“Yeah, and I uh… I want to surprise your sister. Things have been shit between us since… since I deployed and uh well, I want to surprise her and uh, make things up to her, you know?”

“You do?”

“Yeah…”

“You know Arya’s not really big on surprises.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“You do realize this is Arya we’re talking about.”

“You do realize I’m a combat veteran…”

“ _Still_ not sure you’re ready for this shit storm…”

“Bran!” he said half in amusement, half exasperation, “just tell me where to meet her, ok?”

“Alright, it’s your funeral. She’s a senior now so she gets out at 2:15. She parks in the back lot, next to the football field, spot 304. She’ll be driving Shireen home before she goes to Tae Kwan Do, so make sure you get there like actually at 2:15 or you’ll miss her.”

“Thanks bud, you down for a boys’ night tomorrow?”

“Always.” Bran said, though Jon’s heart constricted as he realized it would be there first boy’s night without Robb.

“Hey Jon?”

“Yeah kiddo?”

“I’m glad you’re coming home.”

“Me too.”

 

Arya

 

“I just don’t see what the big deal is,” she said, trying to sound reasonable and not annoyed with Shireen as they made their way to the back exit of Winterfell High at the end of the day.

“The big deal is that Braavos is far! Like _in-Europe_ far. You won’t come home for Thanksgiving, or Spring Break or anything!”

“Yeah but think how much more fun it will be to visit me there than at King’s Landing U.”

“Arya be serious…” her friend said, rolling her eyes as she pushed open the double doors.

“I am being serious! Shireen, I’m done with Westeros. I need to be away from people who know all of my shit. I need some time to be no one you know what—“

“Arya!”

“No I mean it Shireen look—“                                                  

“No _Arya -_ look!”

And then she saw him, and it was like the world stopped turning.

He was there, leaning on a huge black truck parked right next to her Subaru. His hair was shorter than she’d ever seen it, cut in a high and tight that somehow seemed to accentuate the hard angles of his cheek bones. He was still in his uniform – or most of it anyway. He’d shed his blouse in the warm September sun but still had on his standard issue tan tee-shirt tucked into his belted camo pants. His arms were folded across his chest, forcing the tee-shirt to strain to accommodate his biceps, which were significantly more impressive than the last time she’d seen him. One of them was even sporting a tattoo, the edges of which she could see poking out from beneath the tan cotton of his tee. A few inches above his arms his dog tags hung invitingly, resting in the slight indent between the panels of his muscular chest.

But it was his face which caused her breath to hitch, stopping her in her tracks and making her forget everything she’d been doing and saying up to that point. It was set, in his characteristic brooding pout that she knew must drive women crazy. But his eyes – his eyes were fixed on her, burning into her with an intensity she’d never felt before.

His look was something between anger and hunger, and when he pushed himself off the truck and began to saunter towards her she was momentarily overcome with a panicked need to run. But then he reached for her, his muscled arm coming around her shoulders and pulling her into his body in the most secure feeling hug she’d had since Robb had passed. And then her face was buried in his chest and she was leaning against him for support, throwing all her energy into keeping herself from breaking into sobs.

“Come on kid. Let’s get outta here. We gotta talk.”

She looked up at him then, finding that his expression had softened somewhat, and nodded, still unable to say anything. He released her, and she turned back to Shireen who was just staring at them wide-eyed.

“Drive my car home?” She said, hoping that she didn’t sound too obviously shaken.

“Sure,” Shireen said, recovering herself slightly and straightening, “I’ll get Tyene to follow be to your place and then catch a ride with her. Do what you got to do girl. It’s good to see you, Jon.”

“Good to see you too, Shireen,” Jon mumbled behind her. She turned back to him slowly then, realizing too late that she had sworn to never speak to him again and to hate him for eternity. She glared and him, and saw hurt flit across his eyes before he stiffened, set his jaw and narrowed his eyes at her.

“Arya… let’s not do this here,” he murmured in a low voice.

She almost began to protest, but then took in their surroundings. People had started to linger around them in interest. She saw quite a few girls looking at Jon in naked, lustful interest, many of whom made her list of top ten worthless human beings in Winterfell, and for once, she caved.

“Fine,” she said sharply, marching up to the passenger’s side of the truck and waiting for him to get a move on impatiently. The truck was beautiful, black with red accents and lifted so high she had to use her arms to clamber up into the front seat, but the fact that is wasn’t the old Toyota that had been Jon’s car since she was a kid did nothing to improve her mood.

Without another word he got in the driver’s seat, started the engine with a roar and drove them out of the parking lot of Winterfell High, leaving half the student body gawking after them awkwardly. She supposed it wasn’t their fault – Jon had been four years ahead of her in school, and so no one in the current student body had overlapped with him in school, so to most of them he probably just seemed like some random GI spiriting her away from the school parking lot on a random Thursday.

They drove in silence for a few minutes until she realized that he wasn’t taking them home but was instead steering them towards the interstate.

“Where are we going?” she asked, trying her best to sound bored and uninterested.

“My hotel. Gotta check in.”

“You’re not staying at home?” she sputtered, feeling her temper rise in spite of her best efforts to stay aloof.

“Easier this way.”

His callousness was enough to make her fume again. How dare he? How _dare_ he? To just show up here after all these years, and then to not even fucking stay with them, but to stay at some fucking chain hotel off the interstate instead?

He pulled into the parking lot of the Sheridan and she refused to get out of the truck, staying stubbornly in her seat. He ignored her and just went into the hotel, checking in quickly before coming back out and opening the passenger’s side door. When he did, he fixed her with a no-nonsense look that was so reminiscent of her father that it made a lump form in her throat.

“I’ve been driving since nine pm last night Arya, I’ve had more energy drinks than I care to think about, and I haven’t eaten anything more substantial than Pringles since I had Chick-Fil-A breakfast in North Carolina 600 miles ago. I have no desire to carry you into this hotel kicking and screaming, but I will if I have to. So why don’t you do me a solid and just come in so that I can grab my bag out the back? Please?”

She just huffed at him, but got up nonetheless and stomped into the hotel after him, refusing to look at him as they rode the elevator up to the sixth floor and found his room. He opened the door, again saying nothing, and threw his bag down on the dresser before turning around and glaring down at her.

It wasn’t until then that she realized that _he_ was mad at _her_.

“What?” she asked incredulously, honestly confused about what the hell he could possibly be pissed at her for.

“Why’d you do it Arry?” he asked sounding almost sad beneath his anger.

“Do what?”

“I know that you’ve got no one looking after you here now that Sansa’s off in college but Gods I never expected _this_ from _you_ Ar, I mean fuck you’re way too young!”

What in the name of the Gods was he talking about? Had Bran told him about catching her and Micah making out under the football bleachers? Jesus Christ was _that_ why he was here to fucking police her make out sessions?

“Are _you_ kidding me?” she yelled back, her voice dripping with incredulity, “after all these years you come riding up here to lecture me about _boys_?”

“You’re damn right I do – the fuck else was I supposed to do when I’m seeing your shit blasted all over Instagram like some cheap Kardashian slut?” he said, his voice rising as he took a step closer to her and leaned over, so that their faces were mere inches apart.

“What are you talking about?” Now she was genuinely confused. Why the fuck would someone take pictures of Micah and her kissing?

He whipped out his phone furiously and pulled up a screen shot, shoving it into her hands. It was an Instagram post of a girl in a crop top and skirt passed out on a couch at a party with some stupid self-congratulatory caption from that Fuck Boy Ramsay Bolton written under it. The girl did have Arya’s exact hair color and body type, but she would know Jeyne Poole’s idiot self anywhere. And honestly, even if Jon didn’t remember Jeyne that well, how the fuck could he be seriously mistaking her for this chick? I mean the girl had on platform heels for Christ’s sake!

“That’s not fucking me are you serious?” She said angrily.

“Do you think I’m stupid Ar? #TameTheWolf? Just tell me what happened I’m not mad at you but—“

“JON. That is not me!”

He shook his head sadly, looking at her with hurt in his eyes.

“We used to be so close, you and I. I never thought you’d lie to me, even about something like this…”

Ugh! She looked down at the photograph again incredulously. Was he fucking serious? I mean a baby pink crop top…

And then it struck her how she could prove it to him once and for all. She’d give him one more chance to take her at her word…

“That’s. Not. Me.” She said slowly and decisively, but he just shook his head and muttered, “I wish I could believe you…”

With a final curse of exasperation she reached down and pulled her shirt off in one swift motion, throwing the black tee-shirt at his face with as much force as she could muster.

“Like I said _asshole_ , THAT’S NOT ME.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all - to anyone with military connections I apologize if anything is utterly unrealistic, I just thought it made an excellent setting for a modern Jon Snow AU. Sorry this chapter was a lot of history too but I really enjoyed writing it - Let me know what you guys think!!


End file.
